


Sloth

by Belladonna1185



Series: The Seven Deadly Sins [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Seven Deadly Sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belladonna1185/pseuds/Belladonna1185
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus is so very, very tired, but he just can't say no to Harry. Even if he wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sloth

I’m so drained, but the feel of you, sheltering me inside of your blazing heat, melding us together into bliss-filled union is almost more than I can bear- something I can’t ignore.

Your back, slick with sweat, paints my chest with your sweet scent. An adhesive, fusing us together like pieces of a broken vase. I can’t bring myself to care that every joint in my body screams with dis-ease.

I can’t see your face, but that is of no consequence. I know you feel as I do. More even. For you are in control. The leader of this time and place. Alexander to my Hephaestion.

I am merely the throne on which you sit. And rock. And ride. And… 

Oh Gods that feels good when you twist your hips that way.

Oh Gods…I could never imagine the power you command from the Bottom-Top. You wield it like a sword, cutting me to shreds.

“Severus. Move. Merlin, please move.”

You moan, beautiful in your wantonness. I want to obey you. You above all my masters do I wish to submit, but I can’t. I have not the energy, the discipline. It’s too much. Too overwhelming. I’m afraid that I will lose my hard-fought, hard-won control.

I am not a young man any longer, but not old. Thirty-six is not old by any stretch of the imagination. But my experience is more than the sum total of my age. I feel one hundred and yet, sixteen.

I am the first time. Sixteen and ravenous.  Each time after adds twenty years. You drive me into you. I am a toy and means to an end…but I don’t mind. I would never pass up a moment of you/me/us panting, screaming, coming, loving, fucking.  I am eighty now and my energy has waned. This must be the last time for today. The tide only flows so much.

“Ah..Severus. Please move. I need it. Please,” you beg as your head tilts back onto my shoulder, mouth latching onto my neck like a limpet.

“Ha-arry. I-I…” It’s too hard to move. I could break at any moment. I haven’t the energy.

“Please.”

I thrust, just once, and he sings; filling the night with a melody to make the gods weep. Coming, pouring ambrosia, painting his chest, our thighs, our bed.

And then it’s my turn. I silently send my praise to the heavens and fill my lover, my savior with my un-worthy self.

The last of my essence pours out of my body and I collapse in a heap of bones and sinew. I’m so tired. Too tired to move. Too tired to de-tangle, detach.

You chuckle. “I think I broke you,” you laugh breathlessly, still sheltering me inside of you.

Truer words were never spoken.


End file.
